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I guess there are no ghosts, and if yes, then there was only one ghost, of course, the holy ghost �� and, as we know it, nothing has been heard about it since 2000+ years back. No news, even the Vatican is silent.

There are no ghosts, there are only dead skeletons underneath, yet, surprisingly, Virginia Woolf has fresh news: from room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure—a ghostly couple

So, I hope the soul goes on moving to new forms (fingers crossed), but it certainly depends on how one has lived, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. “What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?��

I guess one’s whole life essence determines the new form, in other words, what you have desired your whole life and have not been able to fulfill, that desire at the last moment of your life stands as the only thing that determines your life. Like there is nobody directing anything, just it is simply the law. As such, for those that loved each other deeply and truly and passed away, then being by-gone is not a sorry state of affairs, as ’wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy

They don’t stand in mournful recollection about all that had been lost, quite the opposite, they look out for each other again in the house where they had spent together some wonderful joys, so that it would finally return to be a home again, a family home�� ”Safe, safe, safe��, the pulse of the house beat softly. “The treasure buried; the room…�� the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?

No need for grief, no need for despair, no matter the time passed in-between��

’Here we slept��, she says. And he adds, ‘Kisses without number��. ‘Waking in the morning��, ‘silver between the trees��, ‘upstairs—in the garden, ‘when the summer came---, ‘in the winder snowtime--'Look��, he breaths. ‘Sound asleep. Love upon their lips.����’Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart .